


Little Sparrow

by xLonelyDreamerx



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Hotel
Genre: 1920s, Canon Compliant, Dark John, Dreams and Nightmares, Dreams vs. Reality, F/M, Flashbacks, Horror, Modern Era, Multi, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Canon, Serial Killers, Voyeurism, World War I
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-05-23 08:00:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14930334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xLonelyDreamerx/pseuds/xLonelyDreamerx
Summary: Being reborn into a different era was bad enough. Meeting my killer in this second life was another thing entirely





	1. Chapter 1: Death

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a newbie who hasn't even watched Hotel yet, so what the heck am I doing with my life?
> 
> General disclaimer: This is not my sandbox. I’m just playing in it

I died on a Sunday.

I regret not looking at the date but I know it was afternoon.

The sun was bright. The sky was blue. The air was warm.

Typical California weather

I was getting ready to visit the graveyard and bring some flowers to my brothers.

_Lilium_

Instead of visiting them, however, I joined them.

Permanently

  _Or so I thought_

* * *

**OoO**

* * *

 

_Death must be so beautiful._

I used to say when I attended a wounded soldier.

_To lie in the soft brown earth, with the grasses waving above one's head, and listen to silence_

They liked it. Not many of them had found love in books

_To have no yesterday, and no tomorrow_

It was a good distraction, I suppose.

A distraction from the real world  
  
A distraction from death

_To forget time, to forgive life, to be at peace_

Once I was dead, I did not find peace. I didn’t see my brothers or my father or my late grandparents whose face I had long forgotten.

I cannot say I was suffering though. I did not hear a crying baby like I used to in my sleep. Nor did I see blood in my hands. There were no screams of dying soldiers or sounds of bombs near my head.

There was only silence and blackness

* * *

**OoO**

* * *

 

At some point, I lost the sense of my body. There was only numbness… and darkness…

_You can’t forget the darkness_

* * *

**OoO**

* * *

 

The thing about death – or the in between, since this is not heaven nor hell – is, it gets you thinking… a lot. I questioned all my life choices, what I did and didn’t do and occasionally my thoughts would go back on the living; my brother, my mother, and of course, my husband.

It was pointless, of course. Given the fact that I was in nothingness, there was no reason to think about the living.

They were unreachable

_Those who cannot sleep, should not dare to dream_

* * *

**OoO**

* * *

 

How long was I here? I don’t know. A week? A month? An eternity? I wasn’t aware how long I would remain in this _limbo_ … but-

* * *

**OoO**

* * *

 

Have I been buried alongside my family like my mother knew I would have wanted? Or was I rotting in some corner in the hotel?

The old me who was a dreamer wanted to believe the first option, but she was gone; she had faded away - like an imaginary friend. The realistic in me leaned towards the latter.

Perhaps, only hours have passed. And I’m still dying in room 64.

All dolled up, and broken

* * *

**OoO**

* * *

 

Still here. But something changed. There was a tug, right below where my navel would normally reside - had I still a body. It feels like a string – and was pulling me forward.

This is the end

_It should hurt…_

But also, the beginning

_…but it didn’t_

* * *

**OoO**

* * *

 

Somewhere along the way, there had been a plunge. Now the string anchored me to a warm encasement of soft flesh and liquid. My mind was too far gone to register anything but comfort.

Tiredness swelled. Odd. I had never felt exhausted before.

I vaguely wondered if I would ever wake up

* * *

**OoO**

* * *

 

I didn’t

At least I hadn’t yet

_Not entirely_

Mostly, I just dozed. It was better than before at least. Before I couldn’t sleep at all. Now I faded in and out of awareness. Though, any awareness I achieved was limited to slight vibrations and muted voices.

I was concerned

Had someone joined me? Or was I moved somewhere else?

* * *

**OoO**

* * *

 

Something changed again. It woke me, but I would rather it hadn’t. All around, in all directions, I was being pushed and shoved. I felt suffocated.

It hurt. It was like dying all over again, so I struggled which apparently it wasn’t a good plan. If anything, moving made the compression tighten.

I hated it because I was scared

_What is happening?_

The pressure continued building and then- I was free.

But this freedom was a cage. The squeezing pain was nothing compared to the biting cold that greeted me upon delivery. For starters, I was blind, my hearing impaired and my body immobile. I could feel hands on my body but they brought me no relief. So, I screamed. And screamed.

I did not feel my heart ache when I heard a baby crying

I was far too shocked over the fact that it was _I_.


	2. Infancy

Confusion was a big factor in my first few hours of my life before it was followed by disbelief.

It wasn't until I cried myself into a state of nears exhaustion that rationality decided to kick in. I began making a mental checklist – a habit I had far before my death.

What did I know?

1\. I had died. The memory was slightly fuzzy and the length of time between then and now was unclear. But Lillian Blake – war nurse, barmaid, and wife – was dead. Death never did care about the identity of its victims. It was the one thing that made all living beings equal, I suppose.

_To die. That was what we all live for_

2\. I was also alive.  _Again?_  But the difference was much more obvious; this new body was squishy and soft and my eyesight couldn't be worse; I was unable to observe anything besides shapes and colours. Mobility wise, I was useless – especially now that I was swaddled in a thick, woolly blanket.

Was this a second chance? Or a personal hell?

Many dying soldiers had discussed where they would go after their deaths (and then made a joke out of it). Some believed in Christianity like most people, others who had travelled mentioned about a circle and Buddhism.

 _Reincarnation._  That was what they had called it

Were they right?

_How morbid_

The most important question was if this was how it worked. Was it just an endless circle of life and death?

Have everything we learnt about God been a lie?

_(it certainly opens lot of philosophic discussions)_

Perhaps I will die an old woman in this life

And if not, there was always a next life waiting for me

* * *

_Elena. Elena Hale_

* * *

_Elena Hale_

That was my new name

From what I gathered my new parents must have been wanting me desperately because I was never on the crib – always on somebody's arms.

I was unable to really think of them as my parents: I had a beautiful mother who had done everything to ensure mine and my sibling's safety and a father, who though strict and harsh, had apologised on his deathbed for his wrong doings- whether out of true regret or fear of death – that, I did not know.

However, it would be a lie to say I haven't grown fond of them. The woman who was my supposedly mother had a very pretty voice and she would constantly sing, while my new father had a soft touch and would always read me bedtimes story instead of allowing his wife to constantly swing me back and forth. I liked that – it prevented me from throwing up and it kept me distracted.

* * *

The first fight between my new parents was when my new grandmother had come to see.

Even if I die now, I will never forget her face; old with wrinkles but once her eyes met mine she almost dropped me.

_Black_

_Completely black_

I was unsure whether to keep believing in God – given my circumstances – but no longer will I deny the existence of  _demons_.

The woman turned to my parent and said something, which I could not hear since she had settled me back to my crib.

Whatever it was, it made the couple argue and my new mother would sometimes stare at me for countless hours to the point that it had started becoming a bit disturbing.

Things only worsened when few months later she brought a priest

* * *

The first time I met John Lowe was when we turned five. Or  _John_  turned five – I was going to be thirty one. With our fathers being colleagues, the two police officers had come up with the great idea to share a party for us since apparently, we had birthday on the same day.

Keeping up appearances for the sake of normalcy was difficult; it was hard not to speak early or not to learn early, which was why I was thought to be some bright prodigy.

My mother didn't seem to believe it, whatever my… grandmother was telling her was making her distant and cold. She refused to feed me or clothe me and sometimes she couldn't stand the sight of me.

My father was often furious with her and would always threaten her with divorce if she did not behave.

I couldn't blame the poor woman for her behaviour for I knew what was going on.

_She knew_

I don't know if that woman saw a message on my forehead but somehow she knew I did not truly belong here.

Alone, the woman who gave birth to me would occasionally yell and scream at me to 'get out of her daughter's body'

She had quietened a bit after few visits to her psychiatric but I didn't believe she had given up.

I knew I wouldn't

Nevertheless, I couldn't allow any mistakes, I had to blend it, so when my father told me about the party I pretended to be happy and blubbered about the presents I would want.

* * *

John Lowe was a nitwit

Yes, I'm aware that he's five but what kind of child jumps into the swimming pool when he cannot swim?

Remember what I mentioned about keeping quiet for the sake of normalcy?

It flew out of the window

I don't know whether it was my past as a nurse or because some deep part of me was still loving children – despite currently being one. But I ran as fast as my little legs could allow me to and jumped after John Lowe in an attempt to save him.

I tried to pull him close and thankfully he did not resist, he wrapped his thin arms around my waist as I pulled us both in the surface. As soon as our heads were out of the water, we were gasping for breath.

I didn't pay attention to what was happening around me, I was drawn to John Lowe's frightened eyes as he looked at him – he was cute, for a kid.

"Thank you" He said, his voice shaking and his eyes half open

Before I could answer our fathers were picking us up, the other kids were clapping and John's mother was frantically making sure he was safe.

My father wrapped a towel around me and picked me up, with a kiss on my forehead he told me how proud he was of me and hug me tightly against his chest.

Against my better judgement, I felt a warm feeling forming on my stomach when I embraced him and rested my head against his strong shoulder.

Behind his back, my own mother was glaring.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Agh! I feel so awkward writing in first point of view (i mostly write in 3rd)
> 
> Anyways. So granda knows something is off. Mommy is losing it. And little John is introduced. I hope you like it.  
> Don't worry, we'll reach canon storyline, I just want to establish few bonds between the characters
> 
> Please drop a comment and tell me what you think so far


End file.
